


War Games

by pastelplastic



Category: G.I. Joe (Cartoon), G.I. Joe - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, just complete sunbowesque nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27894145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelplastic/pseuds/pastelplastic
Summary: Left alone on Christmas and unable to cope with the lack of attention, Cobra Commander fabricates an emergency to bring his loyal lieutenants hurrying back to his side.Then he makes them play paintball with him.
Relationships: Anastasia "Baroness" DeCobray/James McCullen Destro XXIV, cobra commander/zartan
Comments: 15
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

The Commander wandered the eerily silent Terror Drome aimlessly, thinking of all the plans he wished to put into action, but could not, since nearly everyone had left for the holidays and only a skeleton crew remained behind. The island would be vulnerable if it was attacked now, with only a few hundred men and the automatic defenses to protect it, but it was a moot point because their enemies were far too honorable to attack on Christmas.

Cobra Commander stared out the window, resentment building in his chest. Everyone had abandoned him. What did they have to do that was more interesting than listening to him talk? He pulled out his phone and opened up the high command group chat, but it was as silent as it had been for the last few days. The last few messages were all from himself, pictures of interesting snakes he'd found while wandering around the island forests and swamplands. Nobody had responded yet, though Bludd had dutifully reacted to each with a thumbs up emoji.

Cobra Commander sat down at a console and made an outgoing call. After a moment, the screen lit with an image of his most powerful non-human ally, the Decepticon Megatron. 

“Commander,” said the enormous and terrifying robot. It was evident that he stood on a snowy battlefield. In the background, Cobra Commander could see other robots brawling and laser fire flying overhead. “What is it now?”

“Is this a bad time?” asked Cobra Commander, observing the chaos behind him. 

“I am on the verge of leading my army to victory. Once we capture your minor deity Santa Claus and take control of his extensive factories, nothing will be able to stop the Decepticons from their conquest of the galaxy!”

“Not today, Megatron!” yelled a voice from off screen. Cobra Commander caught the briefest glimpse of something red and blue colliding with his ally before the call cut to black. 

“Well, you have fun with that, then,” the commander muttered. 

Seeing that Megatron’s soldiers hadn’t abandoned him for the holidays only made Cobra Commander’s annoyance with his own forces grow. He supposed he could bring them all running back if he claimed the island was under attack, but they'd all be angry at him once they realized it was a ruse. And then Destro would yell all sorts of unkind things, and the Baroness would sigh and shake her head like he was a particularly disappointing child, and the twins would bill him for their time.

But what if there was something worth coming back for?


	2. Chapter 2

His brother's rage made it difficult for Tomax to focus on his reading.

There was no sense in saying _I told you so_ , for the sentiment echoed across their bond with perfect clarity. He could not have suppressed it even if he’d wanted to, for he felt it with his whole heart. 

“You don’t have to be so damned smug about it!” Xamot shouted from the kitchen. 

The twins never allowed themselves to be seen arguing. They always presented a united front in public, so united that most thought them interchangeable. But they did not agree on everything...particularly matters of family. 

Something in the kitchen smashed, and Tomax reached for his phone. It seemed they both needed a distraction. He scrolled through his contacts until he found Lily’s name.

It was difficult to find good, reliable escorts--most found the twins unsettling, too unsettling to do the job they’d been paid for with any degree of competence. But Lily never treated them like they were any different from her usual clients. And she had been an incredibly good sport when once, last spring, it had become necessary to abandon the apartment after the impromptu arrival of the IRS. Instead of screaming when forced to cling to the twins as they scaled the side of the building, she'd laughed the entire way down. It was possible they’d fallen a little bit in love with her that day.

_Are you free tonight?_ he texted.

The response came within minutes. _Sorry my loves, with family until the 2nd. Miss you both!_

Tomax continued to search his contacts, eyeing the names of some of their other favorites. _Cerise, Eva, Troy, Gabe…_ It was Christmas eve. Even if they were free, he doubted any of them were in the mood to work. At this point, the best course of action was probably to get drunk and wait for it to filter over to his twin.

"Don't you dare," his brother snapped from the next room.

"Calm yourself, then."

"That bitch--"

_That bitch_ was the twins’ mother, and he had no idea why Xamot had decided to ring her, Christmas Eve or not. Violette Paoli was the most powerful living telepath in the Medeterranean. Her ancestors had stood behind tyrants and dictators, identifying traitors by sight alone and foretelling the outcome of battles. By contrast, her sons only possessed the ability to both fall over if one was hit.

Violette was the undisputed matriarch of their family, but that had offered the twins little protection, for she was their greatest critic. The rest of the family had followed her example, asserting that either they were not trying hard enough to unlock their full potential, or they had no potential and were a disgrace to the family legacy.

The twins had spent their formative years enduring Violette’s increasingly desperate attempts to bring their abilities to the surface--and the less said about that, the better. The moment they were old enough, they’d fled to the French foreign legion and never returned home again. That had been followed by mercenary work, then university, and finally Cobra. 

Tomax had long since given up on having any sort of relationship with their mother; he did not know why his twin insisted on nurturing the hope that one day she would discover what maternal affection was meant to feel like. The woman hadn't even managed to give them proper names.

Suddenly he wanted benzodiazepines. No, no he didn't, his brother did. Drugs would help with the anger flooding their bond, but he'd really been hoping to get some reading done tonight.

"She isn't worth your anger," called Tomax.

"I'm in no mood for platitudes!"

His phone chimed and Tomax glanced at the screen, hoping that perhaps Lily had changed her mind. But the notification wasn’t from her, it was an automatic warning sent from Cobra Island’s security systems.

Panic flooded the twins’ bond, replacing the rage that had hovered between them only a moment ago, and Tomax suddenly found himself very grateful that he hadn’t started drinking yet.

Somewhere out in the swamp, Zartan could hear racious laughter and see the orange glow of a bonfire. The Dreadnoks were celebrating their holiday--and their holiday bonus--but Zartan saw no need to join them. He sat on the front porch of the shack and watched the distant stars, thinking of nothing at all. 

A figure approached, but it was only Zarana. His sister held a can of beer in one hand, and a lit cigarette in the other. She moved unsteadily, impeded by both the soft earth and the alcohol she’d consumed. 

“Heyyy,” she slurred, stumbling up the steps. “What are you doing up here? You should join the, the--” she waved vaguely in the direction of the bonfire and collapsed onto the porch, legs curling under her. 

“Maybe later,” said Zartan.

“What’s the matter? Missing your boyfriend?” 

“Go to hell,” said Zartan amicably, plucking the cigarette from his sister’s hand and helping himself to it. 

Evidently far too drunk to care, Zarana tilted her head back and laughed. “Zartan’s in loooovve!” Then her expression turned oddly intense. “What if he’s ugly, though?”

“What?”

“Under the mask, I mean.” Zarana raised her eyebrows. “You haven’t seen his face. Right? What if he’s ugly?”

“You’re drunk,” said Zartan. “Go to sleep.”

“ _You’re_ drunk,” retorted Zarana, despite all evidence to the contrary. “And you don’t even know his name.”

“You don’t know his name either,” said Zartan mildly. 

“I don’t need to know his name, I’m not the one who’s--”

“Go to hell,” Zartan repeated. “Or I’ll return your Christmas present.”

Zarana’s face lit. “You got me a present?”

“Maybe I did,” said Zartan. “But you’ll never find out if you don’t shut the hell up.”

“A real proper present, or a stupid present?”

“Proper present.” The elated expression on his little sister’s face made him feel vulnerable in a way he did not care for, and he averted his gaze. “Got one for Zandar too. It’s been a good year. That’s all.”

Zarana squealed in delight and threw her arms around him, or at least the part of him that she could reach from her spot on the floor, which turned out to be his knees. Then she looked concerned. “But I didn’t get you anything!”

Zartan shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Now go to bed, won’t you?”

“Nope. I’m waiting for Santa.” Zarana burst into laughter and fell back against the wooden slats of the porch. “Oh, ow.” Then she started laughing again.

After a few minutes of silence, Zartan glanced down to see his sister had managed to fall asleep after all. Normally he’d just let her stay there, but maybe he was starting to feel the Christmas spirit after all, because he resolved to drag her up to her bed before passing out himself, if not only to protect her from being trampled by drunken Dreadnoks, assuming any of them managed to make it back to the shack tonight. Maybe they’d set themselves on fire, or drown in the swamp.

His phone buzzed, drawing his attention away from that line of thought. He glanced at the most recent notification, prepared to swipe it away and forget about it-- 

COBRA ISLAND SECURITY WARNING: LEVEL 4 BREACH

Zartan swore and lurched to his feet. 

Destro would not say that he particularly cared for Christmas, nor anything it represented, but he would certainly not turn down an excuse to get away from the island. 

Better yet, the Baroness had graciously accepted his invitation to join him at his Edinburgh penthouse, one of the many properties he had scattered across the globe. They’d had an...exhilarating...twenty-four hours following their arrival, and now she was curled beneath his arm, sound asleep, while the fireplace cast the room in golden light. 

He was desperately, dangerously in love. He’d carried a little velvet box in his pocket for weeks, waiting for a victory, or at least a strategically advantageous moment to present it. But no such moment had come yet. 

Six months ago, he’d been flown to a mission objective in a Night Raven S3P. The pilot, a female strato-viper, had not uttered a word to him until they were an hour from their destination. Then she’d abruptly announced, “She wants a black diamond.”

“I beg your pardon?” Destro had asked, concerned that the pilot was undergoing some sort of psychological break. 

Said pilot had not taken her eyes away from her windshield. “She wants a black diamond. Sir.” When Destro did not reply, the strato-viper added, “She told us so.”

Destro had always been vaguely aware that there was an informal sense of sisterhood among many of the Cobra women, outnumbered as they were. He’d watched them rally around the Baroness when an ancient piece of technology that erased men’s free will fell into her hands a year ago. The artifact was eventually destroyed (and he could not say that he was unhappy about that), but he suspected none of them had ever forgotten what real power felt like. 

Destro had calmly thanked the strato-viper for the intel. Two days later, following the completion of the mission, he’d wired ten thousand dollars to her bank account. And several weeks after that, he’d contacted a jeweler that had done work for his family in the past and commissioned a ring. He’d paid too damned much for it, and he was certain they’d doubled the price once they worked out it was for an engagement, but it would be worth it if she said yes. 

He shifted his arm so he could gaze at her face, but before he could reach down to caress her hair, there was a sharp noise from the bedside table. His phone screen lit briefly, illuminating the metal mask that rested just beside it. At the same moment, an identical noise and flash of light came from the opposite side of the bed as his partner’s phone received a notification simultaneously.

With dread rising in his chest, he read the message that had just come through. He was out of bed a moment later, replacing his mask and searching for his clothes. 

“James?” murmured a faint voice from behind him. “What’s wrong?”

“The island is under attack.”

There was a sound that could have only been her sitting upright and throwing the covers aside, though he did not look around to verify this. “How soon--” 

“I’m calling for a plane now.” The proposal would have to wait a little longer. But with any luck, he was about to have his victory.

They reached the island at sunrise. It did not appear to be under siege when they approached, but that meant nothing. It was more likely that enemy operatives had snuck in quietly, and were in the process of sabotaging as much as they could while the island’s staff was reduced.

Destro called in for clearance to land, but no response came over the radio. It was quite possible that everyone in the control tower was already dead. 

“Who should we expect?” murmured the Baroness from behind him. “Certainly not--”

Certainly not GI Joe. A black ops mission on Christmas day was not their style, particularly not when Cobra had no active plans. But Cobra had plenty of enemies. There was no telling who the Commander had managed to insult this time. 

Nobody came out to intercept them as they entered the base. Destro had never seen the island so eerily silent before, and the thought crossed his mind that they might be the only two living things in the Terror Drome. The Commander might already be dead. In that case, they’d have to work quickly to establish the Baroness as Cobra’s new leader, before the arrival of--

“What’s going on?”

Destro raised his gun instinctively, but when he turned around, it was only Zartan standing behind him, bow and arrow readied but pointed at the floor. After a moment, Zarana came stumbling in after, looking distinctly unwell. She rested one hand against the wall and took several deep breaths, like she was trying not to throw up.

“We received a notification that the island was under attack,” said the Baroness. 

“So did I. But I’m not seeing any signs of an invasion.”

Zartan was probably Destro’s least favorite person in the world, but at least he could be trusted not to attempt to take charge of Cobra. The man was a mercenary, not a warlord. 

“When did you arrive?” Destro asked him. 

“Only a moment ago.” At the skeptical expression on Destro’s face, he added, “Check the damned Chameleon if you don’t believe me, her engine’s still hot.”

“‘S true,” wobbled Zarana. “We saw you fly in from below.”

“And what is the matter with her?” asked Destro. 

“I’m wasted, is what,” said Zarana. “Merry fuckin’ Christmas to you, too.”

“And the rest of the Dreadnoks?” asked the Baroness. 

“They were in no state to help when the notification came in. Believe me, I checked. They have orders to move in once they’re up, so we’ll have backup in about eight hours. I don’t know what your priority is, but I’m going to try to find the commander.”

“The security center, perhaps,” said the Baroness. “The cameras will show who was responsible for this. And if they are still on the island.”

“Doubt they are. The alert went out six hours ago. They’ll be long gone by now,” said Zartan. 

Destro gave Zartan a suspicious look. “The alert went out four hours ago.”

“Then how’d I spend the last six hours on a skier?” Zartan placed his bow on his back and pulled out a phone. “Look. The message came in at midnight, eastern time.”

“We got the message ahead of the toffs?” Zarana blinked slowly. “Ooh, he _does_ like you.”

The Baroness looked up at Destro. “What does this mean?”

“It sounds as though someone arranged--”

“--for us all to arrive at the same time.”

Destro cursed internally as the twins stepped into the room together. Taking control of the situation would be significantly more difficult now that they were here--the Crimson Guard was loyal to their commanders. 

“I don’t suppose you two have any idea what happened here?” asked the Baroness, though she did not sound particularly optimistic. The twins both shook their heads. 

“If the Commander still lives, he may require medical attention,” said Destro. “In that case, I suggest--”

Heavy footsteps from up ahead cut off his words. Everyone reached for their weapons, but the next people to enter the room were a quintet of Crimson Guardsmen. It was impossible to see their faces behind their masks, but Destro thought they both seemed nervous. 

“Report!” demanded the twins in unison. 

The guardsmen all looked around at each other. He wasn’t imagining it, they were nervous. Finally, one said, “Cobra Commander invites you all to join him in his private suite.”

Before anyone could answer, more scurrying footsteps approached from behind. A moment later, Major Bludd rushed in, his weapon raised. Then he took in the scene before him and lowered it.

“What is going on here?” he asked. 

“I believe we are about to find out,” said Destro dryly.

Cobra Commander ignored the look Storm Shadow was giving him and continued to struggle with the corkscrew. His bodyguard had not uttered a word about the plan but Cobra Commander knew he did not approve. But that didn’t matter. Cobra Commander did not need anyone’s approval, least of all Storm Shadow’s. The man had gone out of his way to avoid him for the last few days, after all. Very unbodyguardlike behavior. 

There was a knock at the main door to the suite and the Commander called, “Enter.”

Destro was the first through the door, shoving aside the Crimson Guardsman before him in his haste. “Commander, what--” he began, but then he took in his surroundings. Normally, the entryway to the Commander’s private suite was empty, save for several large and opulent snake statues. But now there was a table and chairs at the center of it, laid with wine glasses and dishes and as much alcohol as he’d been able to get shipped to the island on such short notice.

“I’m going to kill you,” breathed Destro. 

“Destro. So kind of you to join me. Please, sit. The rest of you, come in. There’s enough chairs for everyone.” Cobra Commander poured a glass of wine and shoved it into Destro’s hand. The rest of his lieutenants filtered past, staring around at the room in obvious confusion. 

“Commander, what is the meaning of this?” asked the Baroness. “We received word--”

“Yes, I know. It seems something triggered the automatic defense systems.” Cobra Commander’s mouth curled in a smile beneath his mask. “What an unfortunate misunderstanding. The technicians tell me it won’t happen again.”

“Commander, we--”

“--thought you were dead!”

The twins looked more puzzled than angry. Good. He could keep them on their toes long enough to distract them from his deception. “Please, sit down. I wouldn’t send my loyal lieutenants away unrewarded after they dropped everything and came all this way to my rescue.”

Zarana was the first to move, collapsing into a chair as though her legs could not hold her for another moment. “Do you have water?” she mumbled. 

“If there is no security crisis, I am leaving,” said Destro. “We shall discuss this incident after the holidays have concluded.”

“No, wait!” the commander reached out and grabbed Destro by the arm. “I’ve got presents!”

Destro did not look at all convinced, but for the first time, he saw the confusion and annoyance in his other lieutenants’ faces turn to curiosity. 

“Presents?” asked Zarana, raising her head a little. “For us? Really?”

“What is this about, Commander?” asked Zartan. 

“Can’t I simply express my gratitude for a year of exemplary service without being accused of ulterior motives?”

“No,” said everyone else in unison. 

Cobra Commander flapped his hands at them in exasperation. “Just sit down!”

“I will not--” began Destro, but the Baroness stepped forward to take the seat beside Zarana. 

“I have just spent four hours in the air. I am not leaving yet.” She picked up the nearest bottle, read the label, and poured out a glass for herself. With the ice officially broken, everyone else moved to the table as well. Destro remained behind a moment longer but finally seemed to realize he had lost and finally went to join the others. 

“You too, Storm Shadow,” the Commander practically sang. After a moment of hesitation, the ninja slid into a chair as though he was embarrassed to be seen doing it.

His plan was working! Once they had a few drinks in them, he would announce his agenda for the day. But first, he needed everyone to relax. 

“So, you set off the alarm yourself,” said Xamot, holding his wineglass in his palm, the stem between his fingers. “And ordered all the personnel to hide so we’d think you’d been wiped out.”

“To what end?” asked Tomax. 

“Is it not obvious?” Destro grumbled. “He wasn’t getting enough attention.”

“I am hurt, Destro,” said Cobra Commander. “Shocked and hurt.” The glass by Destro’s elbow was empty, so he stepped around to fill it.

“Are we having dinner?” Zarana’s glass, despite her request for water, contained red wine. Apparently she was starting anew. “Is that what this is? Christmas dinner?”

“Commander…” growled Destro. 

“Well, I wouldn’t mind.” Zarana looked at her brother. “We haven’t had a Christmas dinner since the orphanage, have we?”

Instead of replying to Zarana’s question, Zartan took a deep drink from his own glass and pretended to be inordinately interested in one of the bottles. 

“Where is the rest of your team, Zartan?” Cobra Commander asked, sensing the subject required changing. “I was expecting more than just the two of you.”

“They’re all dead!” Zarana cried happily. 

“Not dead. Simply unconscious,” said Zartan. He finished his glass and made a face. “Do we have anything stronger than this?”

“I am glad to oblige,” said Cobra Commander, making his way to the enormous decorative snake that doubled as a liquor cabinet. “Any requests?”

To his surprise nearly, everyone began calling suggestions at once. He returned to the table, arms full of bottles. Then he took a wine glass for himself, placed a plastic straw in it, and threaded it under his hood. 

The mood in the room was already shifting, warming. Just as he knew it would. His friends--his _lieutenants and business partners and employees_ , he corrected himself--were wonderfully reliable in that way. 

The poor things came from worlds of lawyers and paperwork, spreadsheets and negotiations, debts and secret deals. There was the occasional knife in the dark, certainly. A fire starting in the server rooms; a whistleblowing employee standing too close to the train platform. But those moments were simply moments. 

The wealth softened the blow of monotony, the Commander knew. The cars and the guns and the drugs helped stave off the inevitable boredom. But one could only collect so much. And it would all grow hollow in the end. 

But Cobra Commander could make them laugh. 

Even when the plan failed, when the superweapon melted, when the men retreated screaming, they were having _fun_. They would never admit it--well, except Zartan, but that was part of what made Zartan so dear to him. There was no shortage of would-be world conquerors to follow. But they had chosen him, and he knew it wasn’t because they believed in his vision or his tactics. They followed because they wanted to see what he would do next.

Cobra Commander finished his drink and then got up quietly. Nobody appeared to notice him slip away, they appeared to be more concerned about getting drunk as quickly as possible. He wasn’t sure why. He was always a wonderful conversationalist. 

He heard Bludd say to Zartan, “So, is that your hood, or your hair?” as he emerged from the next room, his arms full of brightly-wrapped presents. 

“Oh! He wasn’t lying!” said Zarana. “There really are presents.”

Cobra Commander tried not to struggle under the weight of all the packages, but admitted to himself that perhaps he ought to have made two trips. He’d expected the rest of the Dreadnoks here today, so quite a few of them would go unopened. 

He let the pile fall onto the table and shook his arms out. Then he grabbed the nearest one, checked the label, and handed it over to Zartan. Everyone looked more confused than pleased as he continued to distribute the gifts. 

“Open them!” he commanded, because it looked like everyone intended to sit around staring at each other for the rest of their lives. There was the sound of tearing paper, and Cobra Commander sat back to watch for their reactions. 

“What’s this?” said Zarana, who had torn through the paper like a wild animal. “It’s… some kind of grenades. And a gun...but what’s this thing on top?” She set it aside and continued rummaging through the box. “Oh! Candies!” 

“Don’t eat those,” said Cobra Commander.

Meanwhile, Zartan had unwrapped a bow and a large package of arrows. But the arrows were all soft foam tipped, and would be useless against a foe. His box also contained a small hand pistol and another package of the items that Zarana had misidentified as candy. 

“What manner of weapon are these?” called the Baroness from further down the table. She held two pistols in her hands, but regarded them with confusion. Doubtless they were unlike anything she’d ever handled. Apparently she was more drunk than she appeared to be, because she turned one towards her face and stared down the barrel.

“They are toys,” said Destro, but he sounded uncertain.

“It’s for paint,” said Zartan, picking up the pistol his sister had discarded. “They’re all paintball guns.”

“You mean this is paint?” Zarana shook the package of bright pink ‘candies’ in confusion. 

“Each of you have been given weapons suited to your personal fighting styles,” said Cobra Commander. “You have also been provided with one thousand rounds of paint. Somewhere on this island, I have hidden a suitcase that contains one million dollars and a few other items of interest. The first one to reach it will become its new owner.”

“That is idiotic. I refuse,” said Destro, but his tone lacked all conviction. “One million dollars is a paltry sum. What else is in the suitcase?”

“I suppose you’ll just have to find out, won’t you, Destro?” 

“Where did you acquire--”

“--one million dollars, Commander?”

“My OnlyFans subscribers.” He’d meant it as a joke, but the words came out a bit snappier than he’d intended. It was worth it, though, just to see Destro clutch at his heart and fall out of his chair. Meanwhile, Zartan inconspicuously began to type something into his phone. “There are no rules to this game. Except. No. Wait. You have to wear a facemask. And armor. And there will be no blind firing.”

“Three rules, then,” said the Baroness, pulling uselessly at Destro’s coat in a futile effort to get him off the floor. 

“And no maiming each other! Use only the weapons I’ve given you!”

“That’s four,” said the twins in unison. 

“All my employees are so good at counting,” said Cobra Commander to nobody. “I should be ruling the world in no time.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next were supposed to be a single one, but it's already so long that I decided to break it in half. :o

“The suitcase is located at the center of the island,” announced Cobra Commander, yelling a bit to be heard over the noise of the transport vehicle’s engines. “Each participant will be placed an equal distance from it. We will all be monitored by island security cameras. If you are hit, you are out. If everyone gets marked without a winner, we’ll start over. If you find yourself in the ocean, you’ve gone the wrong way. Does anyone have any questions?”

“Yeah. Why is this thing so loud?” moaned Zarana, clutching the side of her head.

Cobra Commander put a protective mask on over his usual mask, just to set a good example. It was more annoying than he’d expected. Setting a good example was difficult. That was probably why he usually tried to avoid it. 

The vehicle rolled to a stop as they reached the first drop-off point. Cobra Commander grabbed onto the back of the driver’s seat to keep from being flung forward. The driver, a low-level trooper, looked up at him in concern.

“Who wants to go first?” the commander asked. “You’ll have a slight advantage.” Assuming any of them were capable of walking in the correct direction in their state. When nobody moved, he sighed and picked up his weapon. “I guess I will.”

Beyond the Terror Drome, Cobra Island was rather inhospitable. Covered in forests and swamplands, the majority of the staff did not opt to go wandering and tried to get out of patrol shifts that took them too far from ‘civilization’. Cobra Commander rather liked it, though. There were plenty of interesting creatures living in the wilderness, and he liked to spice up his twitter feed with an occasional photo, since it was otherwise nothing but himself tweeting ‘fuck you’ at the official GI Joe publicity account. 

Cobra Commander knew his familiarity with the island meant he had an unfair advantage, which was the best kind of advantage. Still, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to win or not, given that he was the host. While he’d like to keep the million dollar prize--and the other contents of the suitcase--for himself, he knew everyone would accuse him of cheating and he’d have a hard time convincing them to make an annual Thing of this. 

He watched the transport drive away and turned his attention towards covering as much ground as possible. He was pretty sure he knew where he was. Perhaps he’d spent more time wandering the island than he thought. 

As he walked along, he kept his eyes out for any interesting wildlife. The reptiles were always his favorites, of course, but sometimes fish and insects could be seen in the swamp waters. Most of the snakes on the island weren’t venomous, or at least not venomous enough to pose any real danger to humans. But most never bothered to learn the difference.  
Cobra Commander wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he finally heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He raised his weapon, but then lowered it again when he saw who it was.

“Ah, Storm Shadow,” he said. “Excellent. You may protect me as I guide us to victory.”

Storm Shadow did not say anything, but Cobra Commander watched as he withdrew a few heavy plastic throwing stars from his breast pocket. While they wouldn’t do the sort of damage a real throwing star would, they would explode on impact and cover the target with paint.

Cobra Commander turned on his heel and ran screaming into the trees. 

Zarana stumbled through the woods, her breath fogging up the protective mask the commander had insisted everyone wear. She didn’t know the first thing about the layout of the island, but she thought she might have an advantage, given she spent a good amount of her free time in a swamp.

She wanted to yell for Zartan, because she knew he would ally with her (at least at the start), but knew yelling might catch the attention of the others, who would all be significantly less friendly. 

She wished Zandar was here. Her other brother was shy, but she thought he’d enjoy the game. And he’d definitely split the prize money with her. Zartan wouldn’t. 

The center of the island, the commander had said. She wasn’t totally sure which way that would even be. She squinted up at the sun. It was sunrise, and the sun rose in the east, so that meant the sun was east, but what direction was the middle of the island? Where was she now?

Zarana pushed her mask up onto her head, set her gun down, and pulled out her phone. She figured she would try her luck with Google Maps. They probably hadn’t been permitted to send one of their cars through and take pictures, but maybe they’d at least managed a few overhead shots of the island?

It was difficult to focus on multiple things at once, given how badly her head was spinning. She leaned up against a tree and squinted at her phone screen. The connection was awful out here.

“What’s--”

“--this?”

Zarana jumped in surprise, dropping her phone on the ground. The Crimson Twins were approaching her, their guns raised, looking insufferably pleased with themselves but also a little bit disoriented. She noticed them bumping into one another, and tripping over each other’s feet. They both wore their protective masks, but they were pushed up onto their foreheads. Not that it helped her tell them apart.

“Wait!” cried Zarana in desperation. “Twin alliance! Twin alliance! Let’s have a twin alliance!”

Both men lowered their weapons, identical looks of confusion on their faces.

“You’re not a twin,” they said in unison. 

“I am! I am! Me and Zandar. We’re just not, you know, codependant.” Both of them frowned, and she hastened to add, “I only meant we’ve got personalities and everything.” Well, that had come out all wrong, hadn’t it? “Never mind. Look, I can prove I’m a twin. I’ll show you a picture from our birthday.”

Neither of the two moved--they looked like they were taking some time to process the situation--so Zarana bent down and grabbed her phone with one hand. With her other hand, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a paint grenade. 

She pulled the pin and threw it. The grenade landed perfectly before the twins’ feet. Zarana turned and sprinted away, tripping over stones and roots as she went. She risked a glance back over her shoulder in time to see twin-without-the-scar fling himself onto the grenade, like the hero of some kind of war movie. 

She heard the _pop_ of the grenade exploding, followed by two identical cries of pain. She looked back again as the twin that had been hit rolled over. His entire front was stained with her bright pink paint. The other one shouted as though he’d forgotten it wasn’t a real grenade. 

“COME BACK HERE, COWARD!” he yelled after Zarana. 

“AVENGE ME, BROTHER!” yelled the other. 

“YOU’RE BOTH REALLY WEIRD!” Zarana screamed over her shoulder. Then she vanished into the trees.

The disposable Cobra-branded coffee cup was filled with a 50/50 mix of whiskey and hot chocolate, and it was probably the only reason why Destro hadn’t boarded his plane and left the island yet. He looked at his surroundings disdainfully. Once this was all over, he was going to recommend they raze the forests, fill in the swamps, and cover the entire thing in concrete. 

Distantly, he could hear screaming. It was unmistakably the commander’s voice, and he found himself instinctively moving towards the sound before he remembered he didn’t care if the screeching idiot was in danger because he’d ruined all of Destro’s plans. 

He lifted the paintball gun in his hand and fired a few experimental shots. While the gun had a surprisingly nice weight to it, the paint was much lighter than a true bullet would be, and quickly lost altitude as it flew. Yellow paint splattered across the forest floor. His aim was terrible today, for some reason. Possibly the whiskey. Probably the whiskey. 

Destro had already decided that he would not debase himself for a mere million dollars, but he would admit he was curious about what else was in the suitcase. The Commander was probably the strangest person he’d ever met in his life, and there was absolutely no guessing what he’d put in there. It could be blueprints for a powerful weapon, or it could be a glitter bomb. It might even be both.

He could hear someone moving through the underbrush, and moved behind the largest tree he could find. He had no interest in winning, but he also had no intention of losing to the likes of Zartan. 

But it wasn’t Zartan who stepped into sight a moment later, it was Bludd. Destro held still, uncertain of whether to call out to him and propose an alliance, or launch a secret attack. Bludd hadn’t done anything to annoy him recently--not that he could recall, anyway. Remembering was so _difficult._

A moment later, a decision was made for him when an orange paint pellet struck Bludd directly in the forehead. The other man made a noise of disgust and removed his protective mask, tossing it on the ground. 

“It doesn’t count,” he complained to whoever had shot him. “The eyes keep fogging up.”

“I can shoot you again if you like!” That was the Baroness’s voice, though Destro could not see where she was hiding. 

“No, that won’t be--” 

Too late, another shot hit Bludd directly in the chest. He stumbled backwards. 

“Fine!” called Bludd. “Enough!”

Instead of a reply, there was a rustling sound, followed by a rather heavy sounding _thump_ , and then a short, pained cry. 

“Ana!” Destro burst forward from the trees, making Bludd yelp in surprise. 

“How long have you been there?” he demanded. Destro ignored him and looked in the direction the orange paint shots had come from. Ana was on the ground, but it didn’t look like she’d been attacked. It did, however, look a lot like she’d just fallen from the branches of the tree behind her. He hurried to her side.

“Don’t touch me, you--” she smacked at his hand, then realized he wasn’t Bludd. “Oh! There you are. What happened?”

He helped her back to her feet carefully. “I believe you fell out of a tree.”

She brushed a few leaves from her hair and adjusted her glasses. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” 

“No, that’s exactly what just happened,” confirmed Bludd. 

“Shut up! You’re dead! Dead people don’t get to have opinions!”

Bludd threw up his hands in disgust. “Fine! I’m going inside. Enjoy playing in the dirt.”

He staggered off, though this was more for dramatic effect than anything else because they’d all been informed the transport would come back around to pick them up once they were out of the game. Destro and the Baroness both watched him go.

“Have you seen anyone else yet?” she asked him. 

“No. Nobody.”

“We have the advantage now,” she said, though she appeared to be speaking to herself more than Destro. “Now that we are together, I will find a safe place to hide while you run around and draw fire.”

“Enticing as that sounds, I think it would be better to keep moving,” said Destro. “The Commander knows the island extremely well, and he took the first drop-off point.”

The Baroness seemed amicable to this plan, and linked her elbow with his. “What do you think is in the suitcase?”

“A live snake,” said Destro with complete confidence.

Zartan moved purposefully through the forest, or as purposefully as he could when it seemed every single root, stone, and branch was going out of its way to trip him up. He was...fairly certain that he was going the right way. He’d been out here with the commander a few times. That was probably enough to get the lay of the land, wasn’t it? He wished his head would stop spinning. 

He could hear screaming coming from not far away, and moved in the direction of the sound. The source of the noise was the commander, of course. And he was being pursued by… Storm Shadow? Zartan nocked an arrow, but did not fire. His instincts said to save the commander--not for any _personal_ reasons, just that he could probably guide Zartan to the suitcase most efficiently and he’d be easier to take down later than Storm Shadow. 

But the commander might just as easily turn on Zartan. He would be taking a risk by revealing himself. And he really wanted that suitcase. 

Another cry caught his attention, but it wasn’t the Commander this time. It was unmistakably Zarana. Zartan turned away from Storm Shadow and the commander without a second thought and hurried in the direction of his sister’s voice.

Soon enough, he caught sight of her rushing through the trees, her bright pink hair a beacon. Someone was running after her. After taking a moment to force his eyes to focus, he realized it was one of the crimson twins, though he couldn’t say which with the protective mask covering his scar, or lack thereof. He sure as hell wasn’t devoting any brain power to remembering how they parted their hair.

Not slowing in her run, Zarana pulled the pin from one of her paint grenades and tossed it back over her shoulder without looking. The twin pursuing her avoided it easily, leaping up to catch a low-hanging branch and pulling himself clear of the explosion. Zartan looked in the direction the two had come from and saw more bright pink paint splattered in a haphazard trail. Apparently they’d been doing this for a while. 

Zartan looked around, trying to figure out where the second twin was hiding, but saw no sign of him. There was no question in his mind that the two were working together and would not be betraying one another under any circumstances, but it appeared this one was alone now. 

He moved forward carefully, trying not to draw attention to himself. But he quickly regretted his caution, because a moment later Zarana’s pursuer hit the ground again, weapon ready. Then he shot Zarana in the back. Bright blue paint splattered across her jacket. 

“Awh,” said Zarana. She peered over her shoulder, trying to see the mark that had been left behind, but only succeeded in turning in a circle. 

Zartan shook his head quietly and nocked another one of the odd foam arrows. He pointed it at whichever twin had just taken out Zarana and let it fly. The arrow was lighter than what he was used to, but the bow was actually good quality. The arrow struck the offending twin right in the shoulder, leaving a smear of bright green paint behind. 

Zarana burst into laughter and the twin removed his protective mask, revealing a long scar on the side of his face. Xamot, then. Not that it mattered much. 

“I’m avenged. We’re all avenged,” said Zarana, leaning on Xamot like he was a wall. He looked a little confused, but didn’t shove her away. “Well, this was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Where’s Tomax?” asked Zartan, reaching for another arrow. 

“Already got him,” Zarana replied promptly. “But don’t stand around here talking to me! Go find that suitcase.”

Zartan didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and hurried back in the direction he’d come from. He suddenly felt a bit guilty about leaving the commander to fend off Storm Shadow on his own. But then, the commander was tenacious. He wasn’t much of a fighter, but he was still more than capable of looking after himself.

The place where he’d seen Storm Shadow pursuing the commander had been vacated in the meantime, but a trail of white and blue paint indicated the direction they’d gone in. He followed it, trying to step as lightly as he could. He wasn’t sure how many people were left in the game, and didn’t want to give anyone the opportunity to ambush him in the way he had ambushed Xamot. 

The trail went cold after a while, and Zartan wondered if one had managed to take out the other. He looked around for any signs of what had happened here, but saw nothing helpful. 

It was too bad the Dreadnoks weren’t here. He wouldn’t have to spend so much time trying to be stealthy with them crashing around. They’d be very upset once they learned they’d missed this. Maybe the Commander would host another game next year?

Zartan froze at the sound of snapping branches. Someone was approaching. Two someones. Destro and the Baroness. He shifted so that he had better coverage and observed the two. They probably wouldn’t be turning on each other anytime soon, if the way Destro’s arm was wrapped around her waist was any indication. 

If they kissed, Zartan would throw up. He might just throw up anyway. He wished it was cold enough for her lips to freeze to his mask. He’d pay money to see that. 

Zartan looked from one to the other, trying to assess which of the two he should take out first. It would probably be smarter to go for the Baroness. She was a better sharpshooter, and a smaller, faster target. Destro would be much easier to take down once she was out of the way. 

But...he really wanted to shoot Destro. The Baroness usually treated him civilly, but Destro was a pompous, overprivileged asshole who made no secret of the fact he thought he was better than Zartan. Zartan didn’t even know why he was playing at all. A million dollars was pocket change to the likes of him. He ought to be sitting in the security room with the grunts, watching the screens and laughing at the rest of them.

Zartan drew another arrow and prepared to fire at Destro, all thoughts of strategy forgotten and replaced with a slightly intoxicated _screw that guy._

“Wait,” said the Baroness suddenly. “I hear something.”

And then she looked right at Zartan. 

Zartan let the arrow fly, but it was too late. She shoved Destro out of its path and leapt backwards. The arrow soared off into the trees. Zartan cursed and took off in the opposite direction, expecting to feel a paint pellet between his shoulder blades at any moment. 

Luckily, he wasn’t the only one who’d probably had a bit too much to drink today. He could hear them running after him, but when he looked back, they’d already lost sight of him. He ducked behind another tree and froze, not daring to move again. 

“Oh, just let him go,” said the Baroness eventually. “I’ve got too much of a headache to run around.”

“I am not losing to the commander’s cheap whore!” snarled Destro. Zartan strung another arrow and fired directly at his head. If Zartan had been sober, it would have taken him out. As it was, he could see a few tiny drops of green paint on Destro's silver mask.

“I’m actually very expensive,” said Zartan.

Zarana and Xamot sat in awkward silence as the transport vehicle headed back in the direction of the Terror Drome. Neither said anything, but Xamot tapped his fingers restlessly while Zarana hummed a messy amalgam of popular Christmas songs. 

“Do you really think we’re codependent?” he asked at last. 

Zarana exhaled and looked him in the eye. “I don’t know how to tell you this, mate.”


	4. Chapter 4

As Cobra Commander ran, he struggled to recall how many throwing stars he’d purchased for Storm Shadow. Too many, that was for sure. He tried to find cover, but Storm Shadow was quick and agile, forcing the commander to keep moving. 

Cobra Commander knew they weren’t too far from a shallow but quickly-moving stream that wound its way through the island. He moved towards it, formulating a plan as he ran. He probably couldn’t outfight Storm Shadow, but he might be able to outsmart him. 

When he reached the banks of the stream, the commander grabbed the largest stone he could find and ducked behind a rotting stump. When Storm Shadow’s light footsteps came into earshot, he heaved the stone with all his strength. It hit the center of the water with a satisfying splash. 

Storm Shadow’s footsteps stilled, and then began to grow fainter. A minute later, Cobra Commander saw a blur of white as the ninja leapt across the stream, moving in the wrong direction. 

Cobra Commander raised his weapon and shot his damned disloyal bodyguard in the back. Then he ran away, cackling in victory. 

Zartan looked at the trees around him, splattered with orange and yellow paint, and realized it might be time to admit that he probably wasn’t going to win this one. He could hear Destro stomping through the underbrush, but had completely lost track of the Baroness. 

Zartan placed his bow on his back as quietly as he could manage and pulled out the other weapon that the commander had given him, a more traditional paintball gun. He no longer had the luxury of using his preferred weapon, for the extra seconds it took to grab and string a new arrow could mean the difference between victory and defeat. 

When Zartan heard a rustling noise from up ahead, he leveled the gun towards the sound. But it wasn’t the Baroness who stepped out of the trees before him.

“Commander?” mouthed Zartan in disbelief, not daring speak aloud. 

Cobra Commander made a gesture indicating that Zartan should follow, and took off in the direction he’d come from. Lacking any better options, Zartan rushed after him. Paintballs flew past his head, but none managed to strike him. 

“Are we far from the suitcase?” Zartan called. Now he felt guilty about abandoning the commander for Zarana. 

“You’ll see!” cried the commander. “This way!”

Zartan knew from the field that the commander made up for his lack of strength with a surprisingly impressive ground speed, particularly when it came time to retreat. Cobra Commander led him through the trees and out towards an open, muddy field. Zartan was hesitant to venture out into an area with absolutely no cover, but the commander showed no signs of slowing down, and so Zartan followed. 

At the edge of the field was a large rock formation, which they both took cover behind. Safe for the time being, Zartan and Cobra Commander both looked at one another, breathing heavily.

“So, what made you pick a fight with those two?” asked Cobra Commander. “Even I know not to do that.”

Zartan rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t something I planned. Why haven’t you grabbed the suitcase yet?”

“Oh, I can’t win,” said Cobra Commander matter-of-factly. “Everyone will think I cheated.”

Zartan made an amused sound. “Since when has that mattered to you?”

The commander shrugged awkwardly. He suddenly seemed embarrassed. 

“What else is in the suitcase?” asked Zartan. 

“It’s a surprise!” It was interesting how quickly the commander’s demeanor could change. Even fully masked, he was so expressive. 

Zartan had never seen the commander’s face, though he did know the small amount of that was visible around his eyes when he wore his hood was not the commander’s true skin color. Foundation, Zartan supposed. 

He’d never asked about it, about that alien ice-blue complexion. The most he’d ever done was gently reach for the commander’s mask during a quiet moment. The commander had pulled away from his hand in a silent denial, and that had been the end of it. 

Zartan supposed he wasn’t being paid to ask questions. And even if he was, he wasn’t sure if he knew how to phrase them--or if he wanted to hear the answers. 

“We should keep moving,” he muttered. “They’ll be after us soon.”

Destro wasn’t sure how or when or why he’d switched from not caring about the game in the slightest to caring far too much. He didn’t think it was his fault, though. The coffee cup was empty. Zartan was existing, unapologetically, in his presence. What else was he supposed to do?

He gritted his teeth and paused to reload his weapon as Zartan vanished through the trees. He’d been confident that they had the mercenary pinned down, but he’d managed to escape at the last moment. 

“I saw the commander,” reported the Baroness from up ahead. “He’s allied with Zartan.”

“He’s still in the game?” Destro had assumed he’d been taken out early. But maybe that was unfair. The commander could be surprisingly resilient. 

“I believe he is leading Zartan to the suitcase.” 

“Of course he is,” said Destro bitterly.

“Stop that! We’ll take them both out after they’ve led us to the briefcase. But it won’t work if you keep stomping around trying to shoot Zartan.”

He realized that she was probably correct, but how was Destro supposed to refrain from shooting at Zartan, a man who wore a crop top in the middle of December and always laughed at the commander’s terrible jokes? 

“Very well,” he muttered. It wouldn’t be his fault if his gun accidentally misfired. 

“And try to step more quietly.”

That was downright unfair, given the size difference between them. She was lucky she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and also that Destro’s head ached too badly to start a real argument. 

They came to an open field, but two pairs of footprints in the mud led them to a large, unusual rock structure. Zartan and the commander had certainly been here, but they’d since moved on. 

There were no footsteps to follow when the mud turned into grass again, but the Baroness pointed out crushed and snapped branches that marked a recent trail. Destro would never have noticed it himself, so he allowed her to take the lead. They encountered no one else as they moved across the island--perhaps there was no one left in the game?

The trees grew denser as they continued to move, and Destro realized they were gradually moving upward with the slope of the land. In the distance, at the highest point, he could see some sort of structure. A guard tower?

The Baroness froze in her step, and Destro did the same. At first, he thought someone had spotted them, but then he heard the distinct sound of the commander’s voice. 

“--not far now,” he was saying. “Once you see the steps, you’re nearly there.”

The Baroness’s eyes lit with excitement and she broke into a run. Destro tried to follow her, but could not weave through the trees as easily. Instead he found a second, clearer path and hurried towards the sound of the commander’s voice. 

The commander and Zartan were both heading towards the unusual structure, but the land rose so sharply and unevenly that they would not be able to reach it easily. But upon closer inspection, Destro realized that he could see the remains of what had once been a winding stone pathway leading up the muddy hillside. The suitcase was almost certainly at the top. 

All thoughts of strategy gone, Destro began to fire wildly, causing the commander to scream and Zartan to bolt in the direction of the stone path. After a moment of hesitation, the commander rushed after his mercenary, firing back at Destro with equally poor accuracy. 

Destro risked drawing closer, since only the commander was firing while Zartan continued up the path. They exchanged shots for a few seconds, neither landing a hit, until the commander’s gun clicked uselessly. He’d run out of ammunition. Destro smiled in triumph and advanced on him. 

“Step aside, Commander,” Destro ordered, readying his weapon. 

The commander squared his shoulders, clearly intending to block Destro from the path through sheer willpower. “I won’t!”

The commander was so small, Destro could have just swatted him away easily. But he was so close to victory. He would take no chances today. Destro raised his gun and shot the commander in the chest. 

The commander cried out in anguish and staggered backwards, hands pressed to the brightly colored stain as though it was his lifeblood. But instead of addressing Destro, he looked above to Zartan and shouted, “Run!”

Zartan took off in a sprint, and Destro began firing wildly. But the stone path was jagged and unpredictable, and Destro’s aim was...impared...today. Yellow paint exploded across the rock and mud, but none of the shots managed to hit Zartan. That was, not until an orange bolt struck Zartan in the back. A moment later, the Baroness stepped out of the trees, looking unimpressed. 

“Ana!” Destro cried in dismay. “I wanted to get him!”

“You’d have run out of paint first,” she said dismissively. He opened his mouth to argue, but she was already making her way up the stone pathway. He followed after her, simmering internally. 

Zartan seemed to accept his defeat quietly, moving out of the way to allow them passage. Still, Destro could not quash his annoyance. She'd known he wanted to take out Zartan himself and stolen the kill anyway. He'd expected her to understand that. He'd have understood if their positions were reversed. 

As they reached the top, Destro realized that what he’d mistaken for a guard tower was a small, dilapidated structure with only three walls and no ceiling. There was no telling what it had once been, for it appeared to have been destroyed during an attack, or possibly burned down after an experiment went wrong. Standard Cobra fare. As they moved forward, Destro found himself thinking once again about the contents of the suitcase. Not the million dollars, he would never be that destitute, but whatever else was inside. What if it really was weapon blueprints? Cobra's scientists had come up with some incredible designs over the past few years. 

In that case, wouldn't it be better for Destro to take the suitcase? MARS could manufacture whatever the plans were for; the Baroness couldn't. He should probably take it. He deserved it, especially after having his kill stolen. 

Destro heard footsteps behind him, but it was only Zartan and the commander, apparently coming to watch the conclusion of the event. Destro didn’t mind an audience. He wanted them to witness his victory. 

“I see it!” the Baroness cried, and Destro moved closer to look over her shoulder. There, resting in plain sight in the middle of the floor, was a large leather suitcase. “Finally!”

“Well done, my dear,” said Destro, and raised his gun to the back of her head. 

It was extremely crowded in the monitor room, as well as the hall outside. They were far beyond suggested maximum occupancy, and Zarana found herself repeatedly elbowing grunts out of the way to keep a clear view of the screen. Finally, she edged herself between the crimson twins. Nobody was pushing _them_ around.

When Destro pointed his gun at the back of the Baroness’s head, the entire room erupted into noise, and even Zarana found herself yelling in disbelief. But even that was nothing compared to the moment Destro actually fired--just as the Baroness turned around to look at him.

The paint hit her directly in the face, and at such short range it was enough to knock her backwards off her feet. The monitor room fell utterly silent, and Zarana clasped her hands to her face like a scandalized grandmother. On either side of her, the twins each raised an incredulous hand to his own forehead, mirror images of one another.

Destro appeared to sober up in that moment. He dropped his gun and rushed over to the woman who now lay on the ancient floorboards, staring up at the sky blankly. 

“Ana. Ana!” he pulled her body close to his own. “Oh my god. Ana.”

“You broke my glasses,” she said in an uncharacteristically plaintive voice. 

Zartan nearly fell over laughing. “Now who’s cheap, Destro?” he yelled. Destro turned to glare at him, but did not reply. 

The Baroness’s lips moved slowly. “Why did you…?”

“I, I’m sorry,” Destro stammered. “I didn’t--I didn’t think--”

She pulled the remains of her glasses from her face. One lens was completely opaque with paint, and the bridge was twisted out of shape. He took them from her hand and set them aside.

“Well, you’ve won,” she said bitterly. “I hope it was worth it.”

“I will never forgive myself,” Destro swore. “For the rest of my life, I will carry this shame.”

It was a little difficult to tell with all the paint, but Zarana didn’t think she looked terribly impressed by this declaration. 

“Men are all the same,” Zarana proclaimed to nobody in particular, but the statement received murmurs of assent regardless. 

Destro rose and approached the suitcase like a man going to his execution. He picked it up and found it was heavier than it looked. Perhaps there was a weapon inside after all. Not that he cared at this point.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Open it!” cried Cobra Commander. 

Destro shot the man a resentful look, but set the case down and pulled the zipper around. As he lifted the top, he saw neat stacks of green American currency, as expected. There was also a surprising amount of Toblerone scattered among it. And beneath the money, there was a very large but very thin package wrapped in festive paper. 

Destro slid the present out cautiously and stood up, turning it over in his hands. There was no hint of what might be inside. It was completely flat, though, which meant it might be blueprints after all. Since everyone (except for Ana, who was still on the ground taking some time to process his betrayal) appeared to be waiting for him to unwrap it, he found one of the tape seams and unfolded the wrapping paper as neatly as he could manage. For a minute, the only sound in the remains of the structure was the sound of crumpling paper.

“This is…” Destro looked at the commander. “This is an oil painting of the time you carved your own face into the moon.”

“I painted it myself!” said Cobra Commander proudly. 

Zartan burst into laughter so hysterical that he actually began to cry. Meanwhile, Destro set the canvas back down inside the suitcase and quietly fell to his knees, hands pressed over his face. “You are dead to me, Commander.”

“Well I think it’s nice,” Cobra Commander huffed. 

“Oh god, it hurts to laugh,” sobbed Zartan, clutching at his side. “I love you, Commander.”

Cobra Commander’s body language became difficult to read. “I...uh. Well. I, I love me too, Zartan.”

Still laughing, Zartan swept the commander into his arms and carried him away bridal style, leaving Destro kneeling there alone with the love of his life, and his regrets. 

The medics said that the Baroness was uninjured, but she would have an impressive bruise on her face for the foreseeable future. She wasn’t the only one with bruising, since the entirety of the command staff had regarded the commander’s orders to wear protective masks as optional, but hers would certainly be the most impressive.

Still, she remained on the medical cot as though she fully expected to die and refused to acknowledge Destro whenever he spoke, not even when he fetched her backup glasses from her room. He could not blame her. Strands of her dark hair were still stained bright yellow.

“There you are!” cried the commander, appearing in the doorway. “Are you both still sulking? Come back up to my suite, we’re having cake.”

“Commander, it would be beyond the scope of all human language to explain how much I do not wish to be in your presence right now,” said Destro. 

“I hate it when you get like this,” sighed Cobra Commander, shaking his head wearily. “Oh! Did you know Zarana and Zandar are twins?”

 _“Commander,”_ growled Destro. 

“I didn’t know that. See? Isn’t it interesting what we learn when we spend time together. We should do this more often.”

“Get out!” he shouted. The commander huffed and stepped out of the room, but Destro could tell he was still hovering outside the door. He supposed it was the best he could expect from his horrible ridiculous possibly-alien employer.

“Please,” he said to Ana in a low voice. “I’ll do anything you want. I’ll give you anything you ask. Let me fix this. Just tell me what you want.”

The Baroness opened her eyes at last. “The AmEx,” she said promptly. 

“The--what?” Destro pulled out his wallet and began to withdraw a card. The Baroness sat up quickly. “Very well, I--”

“No, not that one. The platinum.” 

Destro sighed the deep, quiet sigh of a broken man and handed over the requested card. The Baroness leapt to her feet, magically rejuvenated, and ran out of the room laughing. 

“I think that went well,” said Cobra Commander, peering in from the hallway. “Can we do it again next year?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zartan asks Destro if he can have the painting and Destro says "whatever" and Zartan takes it home and hangs it over his bed.
> 
> The Baroness goes shopping and takes Zarana with her. Despite having absolutely nothing in common, they have a great time. The Baroness tries her very first beer, and Zarana learns how to eat with a fork.
> 
> Mindbender comes back from the holidays and demands to know why there's paint everywhere.
> 
> The twins get therapy.


End file.
